


the best-laid plans of mice and men

by polkadot



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Ten in Ten Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benoit doesn’t get bad ideas. It just doesn’t happen. He's constitutionally incapable of having a bad idea; it’d be going against nature, like Andy Murray making it through a match without an audible obscenity, or Rafa getting a code warning for smashing a racquet, or Roger going on court in <i>piratas</i> and a sleeveless shirt.</p><p>He explains this to Stan, who blinks at him and continues to slowly stir his coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best-laid plans of mice and men

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic is entirely outside the universe of [la vache et le dauphin](http://archiveofourown.org/series/45888).
> 
> 2) Everything is 'actually' in French except where otherwise stated.

Benoit doesn’t get bad ideas. It just doesn’t happen. He's constitutionally incapable of having a bad idea; it’d be going against nature, like Andy Murray making it through a match without an audible obscenity, or Rafa getting a code warning for smashing a racquet, or Roger going on court in _piratas_ and a sleeveless shirt.

He explains this to Stan, who blinks at him and continues to slowly stir his coffee.

“What?” Benoit asks, crossing his arms and arching his eyebrow.

Stan sets down his spoon. “I’m trying to get the picture of Roger wearing Rafa’s clothes out of my head.”

“Forget that,” Benoit says, impatiently. “It was just an example. Though honestly I don’t know why Nike hasn’t done a commercial with Rafa and Roger switching clothes, it would be awesome. You could have them in silhouette facing each other on a court and then turn the lights on and tada!” He tears a piece off his beignet, thinking. “What should the tagline be…”

“I think we’ve wandered off the point,” Stan says, sipping coffee.

Benoit shakes himself. “Yes. _Anyway_ , as I was _saying_ , I don’t have bad ideas. Ergo, this is a good one. Ergo, we should totally do it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Stan says, patiently. “You think we should play a massive prank on Magnus and Lionel.”

“And JC and ERV and Nico and,” Benoit starts.

“And our friends,” Stan obediently adds. “Because, and I quote, ‘it’s too quiet around here’.”

Benoit grins at him. He can usually get whatever he wants when he grins. “And because I want to see the looks on their faces, _both_ during the prank _and_ when they find out we were pulling their legs.”

Stan’s trying to look stern, but Benoit can see the answering grin beginning to pull at the edges of his mouth. He’s so easy. “And this prank consists of us pretending to be carrying on a clandestine relationship.”

Benoit rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like a top-secret spy mission.” He reaches his hand across the table and trails a finger along the inside of Stan’s wrist. “It’s just _dating_ , darling.”

Stan’s openly laughing at him now, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. Benoit brightens. It may take him another hour of persuasion, or maybe even a couple of days of badgering, but those crinkles mean he’s won.

He’d told Stan it was a good plan.

~//~

The first flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan becomes apparent when it turns out that Stan is a very bad actor.

“No, stand here,” Benoit says, impatiently, putting his hands on Stan’s hips to pull him closer. “You’re supposed to be leaning in towards me when Nico comes past so that we can spring apart guiltily.”

“I thought you wanted me to look at you like this,” Stan says, demonstrating.

Benoit sighs. “That just makes you look like you have a bad headcold,” he tells him. “We’re supposed to be fighting the irresistible draw of mutual attraction, not teetering on the edge of an epidemic.” Though mono _was_ called the kissing disease…but no, they wanted to prank their friends, not start a panic in the locker room.

“How about this?” Stan asks, batting his eyelashes.

“Now you look like you’re about to sneeze,” Benoit says, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “You’re falling in love with me, not _allergic_ to me.”

Stan makes a face at him, and of course that’s when Nico rounds the corner, shooting them a faintly puzzled look before vanishing in the direction of the showers.

“Ugh,” Benoit says, when he’s gone. “The cunning plan was for him to catch us canoodling, not bickering.”

Stan puts his hands on the locker on either side of Benoit’s head and leans in. “Oh lover mine, hearken to my sweet song…”

“Get off,” Benoit says, pushing him away. “He’s gone. I’ll just have to come up with something else.”

~//~

The second flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: none of their friends are very observant.

 _He’s_ observant, of course. _He_ would have noticed in an instant if Gael, say, was hovering around Julien’s locker suspiciously, and then when Julien came back from practice and opened his locker a bouquet of roses tumbled out.

But their friends are criminally unobservant. When Stan opens his locker and looks bemusedly at the roses confronting him – Benoit had decided not to warn him in advance, due to the ‘not a good actor’ thing – Gillou doesn’t say a word about the way Benoit had been conspicuously lingering near it earlier. 

Instead, he cracks up laughing. “Does someone have a secret admirer?” he says, coming over to clap Stan on the shoulder. “Damn, I knew you had fans, but that must have taken some effort. Most fangirls just tweet you lewd messages or take millions of pictures of your ass, don’t they?” He picks up the card with the roses, but doesn’t remark on the stylishly drawn ‘B’ either. “This took _planning_. Wonder how they did it? Bribed a security guard?”

“They don’t take millions of pictures…” Stan starts, a furious blush starting to show.

“Oh yes they do,” Gillou says, still grinning. “Face it, the only guy with more ass pictures online is Rafa.”

Benoit takes pity on Stan. “Says the man who looks like that Pattinson vampire fellow,” he teases, and promptly gets into the ongoing argument with Gillou about whether that jibe is out-of-date or will always be funny. 

Stan shoots him a grateful look, and then goes back to staring at the flowers, as if trying to figure out what to do with them. Benoit fishes around behind them – having moved on to ribbing Gillou about the fan who’s started calling him a ‘boytoy’, and debating whether or not that should be Gillou’s new nickname – and hands him a vase. 

Time for another approach.

~//~

The third flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: Stan is too chicken.

Specifically, chicken about breaking endorsements. He’s been arguing with him for five whole minutes on the way to the practice court that wearing each other’s shirts will be harmless, that the only people there will be Magnus and Lionel, and that nobody from Yonex is going to magically show up and have a swooning fit because Stan is wearing Lacoste.

“But there might be fans there,” Stan says.

“To take pictures of your magnificent ass, yes, we’ve been over this,” Benoit says. He’s not sure why everyone keeps going on about Stan’s ass. It’s just a butt. You sit on it. “It’s an _early_ practice, it’s barely morning. And the tournament hasn’t even started yet. There won’t be fans to rat you out to Yonex.”

He lets Stan go in front of him when they reach the practice court, so he can survey Stan’s butt. It looks pretty normal to him. More padded, perhaps. Good for cushioning if you fall down. But there aren’t a lot of Internet pictures of Stan falling down on it; mostly they’re of him crouching down to receive a serve, or stretching for a shot down the line, or bending over to rummage in his bag, as he’s doing now.

“Are you checking me out?” Stan says, sounding amused.

“No,” Benoit says immediately, then remembers that he’s supposed to be trying to fool Magnus and Lionel. “Yes,” he corrects himself, loudly, and projects his voice to carry. “Yes, I am checking out your ass. It is fantastic. A truly magnificent and unparalleled piece of art.” 

Lionel, having a cordial if almost incomprehensible Franglish conversation with Magnus – as Magnus’s French and Lionel’s English are mutually horrible, their ability to communicate is primarily limited to gestures – turns to look at him. Benoit smiles broadly at him (who, me?), and after a moment Lionel just shakes his head and turns back to Magnus, shrugging at him eloquently. 

His little scene hasn’t gone entirely unappreciated, however - a group of fans by the fence is giggling. Christ, there _are_ fans.

“I think,” Stan says, straightening up from his bag and turning towards him, “that you need to work on your acting skills.”

“I _do not_ ,” Benoit starts, indignantly, before drawing himself up haughtily and stalking off to the baseline, racquet in hand. History is full of artists who were unappreciated in their own time. He’ll have his revenge.

But when Stan changes his shirt midway through practice– to much excited chattering and picture-snapping from the fence – and Benoit seizes the opportunity to grab his clean shirt and run off with it, the effort backfires. Stan just laughs and plays shirtless, despite Benoit tossing him a perfectly good shirt from his own bag. (This pleases the onlookers as well.) 

Benoit tries to salvage the situation by changing into the shirt he stole, but Stan’s made him paranoid and he spends the rest of practice keeping a jittery eye out for Lacoste representatives lurking in the growing crowd of fans. Stan’s ass really must be popular. He sneaks another look at it, making sure to let Lionel see him looking, but Lionel just sighs and mutters something about not having signed up for this. Which he says nearly every day.

Benoit gives up and strips off Stan’s shirt, smiling and flexing his muscles when the cameras at the fence turn in his direction. 

He’ll have to think of something else.

~//~

The fourth flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: Stan’s food is disgusting.

“Eww,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s _slimy_.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t steal food off other people’s plates,” Stan points out in his insufferable ‘logical’ tone. “And it’s a melon. It’s not slimy.”

“Slimy,” Benoit repeats. “Why did you get a _fruit salad_ when there are eggs and sausages and gougères?” He takes a big bite out of his pastry, letting the delicious cheesiness chase away the melon taste. 

Nico says, “Some of us are watching our figures,” exactly like a society girl in an old film.

“Excuse you,” Benoit tells him, “but I have a perfectly wonderful figure.” Then, remembering, “And so does Stan. If he wants to eat fruit salad because he likes it, fine, but if he wants to have eggs and sausages he should. They’ll only add to his fantastic ass,” he finishes, winking at Stan.

Stan looks a bit bemused by this.

Nico narrows his eyes at Benoit. “Are you making fun? That’s mean.”

Benoit puts a look of offended outrage on his face. “No! I’m serious.” To demonstrate his sincerity, he spears one of his sausages on a fork and waves it towards Stan. “Open up. Sausaaaage. Or do you want bacon? I’ve got some under the eggs somewhere.”

“You are _very strange_ ,” Nico says, sounding slightly strangled, and decamps with his tray.

“That went well,” Stan says, his eyes crinkling, and Benoit takes the opportunity to pop the sausage into his open mouth.

No more stealing food off Stan’s plate, though. Unlike Benoit’s culinary choices, Stan’s are likely to poison him. It’ll have to be something else…

~//~

The fifth flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: Magnus is entirely incurious.

Benoit's popped over to Stan’s room first thing in the morning, breezed past a sleepy Stan in the doorway, and jumped straight into Stan’s bed. 

“What,” Stan says, shuffling into the bedroom and rubbing his eyes, “are you doing?”

Stan’s bed is comfortable, and warm. There’s still the impression of his head in one of the pillows, and it smells like his shampoo when Benoit closes his eyes and pretends to be sleeping.

There’s a pause while Stan no doubt blinks a few times and wakes up enough to remember 'their' cunning plan – Benoit is cosy enough at the moment to be charitable and credit Stan for a share in the plaudits – and then the sound of slippers being taken off (yes, Benoit noticed the fuzzy slippers, he’s just saving them up for future teasing) as the bed dips under Stan’s weight. 

“I’m assuming there’s a purpose to this,” Stan mumbles, sliding under the blankets. Benoit feels a temporary smugness at the fact that Stan's got the cold unused side, before realising that he’s going to want half the blankets now. Benoit is getting attached to these blankets. They’re much nicer than the ones in his room, he thinks, although maybe he’s just imagining things. Like how Stan’s foot brushing against his leg as he gets settled is strangely nice, or how Stan’s breathing on the pillow next to his makes Benoit want to drift off into sleep…

The knock on the door wakes him up some time later. At first he doesn’t think he can drag himself out of Stan’s extremely comfortable bed, but Stan shows no signs of moving either, his eyes closed and his face serene, and besides – the plan. So he pulls himself out of the blankets, goes around the bed to steal Stan’s fuzzy slippers, and pads off to answer the door.

Magnus just looks at him, and doesn’t comment on his bedhead, his slippers, or anything else. “When Stan wakes up, tell him our practice has been switched to Court 5,” he says.

“You could have texted,” Benoit says, yawning and scratching his belly. Maybe he should have put on a pair of Stan’s pyjamas. But that might have been overkill.

“Stan turns his phone off at night,” Magnus says, and turns to go. 

Damn. He would have known that if he’d actually been here all night. Damn you, clever Swedes.

Then he grins. “I meant you could have texted me. _I_ keep my phone on at night,” Benoit says, mentally congratulating himself, and shuts the door triumphantly.

Still, Magnus had looked entirely unworried, and, more importantly, unconcerned. Did he suspect? Surely not. Benoit’s plans are far too cunning to be suspected. Still…he needs a different technique.

~//~

The sixth flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: everyone is always in high spirits during rain delays.

When Gael started dancing to the music on his iPod and then Milos suggested a dance-off, Benoit had instantly thought of a plan. But when he seized Stan’s hand and tugged him off a bench and into his arms, the only surprised look was Stan’s own.

“Pretend you’re shy but actually like it,” he whispers into Stan’s ear, before remembering Stan’s terrible acting skills. With their luck, Stan will end up looking like he’s about to have a seizure or something.

Benoit will just have to do most of the work on his own. He slips his arm around Stan’s back, holding him close as he sways to the beat. He’s a very good dancer – whatever ERV may say – and Stan’s body gradually relaxes against his own, trusting him to guide them.

His plan hasn’t exactly worked. Janko’s figured out how to switch the music to a pounding techno beat, and people are starting to dance all over, ignoring them entirely. Rafa and Marc are doing some strange jitterbugging and cracking each other up, Jo is showcasing some typically splendid moves in the center of the room, and even Richie is quietly headbanging in a corner. 

“New cunning plan?” Stan says, softly, his breath on Benoit’s ear surprising him and making him shiver.

He drops his hands to Stan’s hips, and Stan seems to catch what he means, looping his own hands loosely around Benoit’s neck. “They’ll notice in a minute,” Benoit says, although he’s not sure they will. Milos is doing some truly godawful moves now, and everyone who isn’t watching him is laughing at Novak’s attempts to get Andy onto the impromptu dance floor with him. “Keep dancing.”

Stan’s eyes are twinkling. “I can’t really dance,” he tells him, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“I’ve noticed,” Benoit says, resting their foreheads together so that no one can overhear them. “But I can, so follow my lead.”

Benoit’s beginning to wonder how many different tries this prank is going to need.

~//~

The seventh flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: friendships are far too bromancey these days.

“We still going for dinner and a movie tonight?” he asks Stan, in English, within full sight and hearing of both Tomas and Delpo. He piles on all his charm for good measure.

Stan blinks slowly, then seems to recollect himself. “Sure,” he says, and smiles.

“I really look forward to it,” Benoit tells him. “You want to watch a action movie, a big action movie, or a super action movie?”

Tomas sighs. “I wish I had a bromance,” he says to Delpo.

Delpo eyes him warily and starts scooting inconspicuously down the bench. (Well, as inconspicuously as someone that tall can manage.)

Tomas doesn’t seem to notice. “You can have nights out and you don’t have to watch chick flicks,” he says, mournfully.

“Excuse you,” Almagro says, putting his hands on his hips. “Many people like ‘chick flicks’. Just because a movie does not ‘kaboom’ all the time, does no mean it’s bad. Chick flicks are not only for girls. And many girls like action movies…”

Benoit tunes out that argument. Almagro’s English gets faster and less comprehensible the more animated he becomes, and Benoit has more important things to do anyway. “Do you think candles at the table for dinner?” he asks Stan, loudly.

“I think the fact that you’re trying to talk to me in English instead of French may be a bit suspicious,” Stan says, in French.

Damn. Foiled again. 

Benoit tries to salvage the plan by leaning down to pinch Stan’s cheek teasingly as he passes on his way to go find Lionel. Stan’s dimples come out. 

Tomas, the only person still paying attention to them, says, “And _that_ would have got me in trouble.” He looks past Almagro (who Benoit thinks is still attempting to expound on the sexism inherent in the classification of movies into ‘chick flicks’ and ‘guy movies’, but given that Almagro's lapsed at least halfway into Spanish he could very well be wrong about that) and smiles hopefully at Tursonov. “You like action flicks, right?”

Well, if the cunning plan had been ‘get Tomas Berdych a bromance’, this try might have had a hope of succeeding. As it is, Benoit needs a different one. 

And fast. His cunning plan has been in place for nearly two weeks now, and he doesn’t think they’ve succeeded in pranking _anyone_ yet. 

Courage. Once more into the breach, he thinks.

~//~

The eighth flaw in Benoit’s cunning plan: his friends are all tennis players.

It should have worked. Benoit spent nearly all evening laboriously composing a ‘love letter’, even going so far as to copy it out twice so his handwriting was super neat, and then added a few hearts and heart balloons at the last moment. By the time he slips it into Stan’s locker the next morning, he’s feeling very proud of himself. Stan will open it, start reading it, one of the many nosy guys in the locker room will come over to try to read it over his shoulder, and things will proceed as planned. He only wonders why he didn’t think of it before.

The problem is, by the time Stan gets back from practice – which Benoit _should_ have been at, to keep up the prank of course, but Lionel arranged for him to practice with Tommy instead and muttered something about ‘distractions’ under his breath when Benoit asked to change – everyone is milling about getting ready for their own practices, and nobody’s paying attention to Stan or the letter in his hands.

Benoit, safely stashed around a corner (it wouldn’t do for anyone to see him watching Stan read his letter – he’s supposed to be in love, not a creepy stalker), peeks out to watch.

Stan opens the letter. 

Grigor’s chattering on his phone, no doubt to Maria. Richie’s fixing the grip on his racquets. 

Stan smiles.

Fer and Pico are arguing about where one of Fer’s shoes might be. Nico and Gillou are discussing the weaknesses of Gillou’s next opponent. Sam Querrey’s trying to find someone to practice with him because his hitting partner’s got the flu.

Stan trails a finger slowly down the paper.

Benoit turns away. Obviously no one’s paying attention to Stan. Obviously no one is reading over his shoulder. Obviously no one’s looking at the way he’s smiling, the way his skin flushes, the way he holds the paper gently, like it might break. 

Benoit’s plan is never going to work if everyone is so caught up in tennis that they don’t pay attention to what’s going on. His plan is never going to work if nobody has eyes to see.

~//~

The genius in Benoit’s cunning plan: he has a co-conspirator.

“I guess we should probably call it off,” he says, gloomily, staring down at his éclair.

Stan drinks his coffee before answering. “You think so?”

“It’s been three weeks,” Benoit says, woefully. “I’ve left you roses. I’ve danced with you. I’ve worn your shirt in practice. I’ve written you a love letter. I’ve taken you on dates. I’ve eaten your food. I’ve _slept in your bed_. And nothing. Not a single nibble.”

As if reminded by the food comment, Stan puts his strawberries on Benoit’s plate. They’re the one fruit that Benoit does like, and Stan’s begun to hand them over before Benoit has to steal them. He’s a good friend.

“I mean, I was prepared for people not to get it right off,” Benoit says. “Best friends act a lot like lovers, after all, except for the sex part. But for _nobody_ to get it, in _three weeks_ …” He throws his napkin on the table dramatically. “It’s shocking, how blind people are.”

“Yes,” Stan agrees. “It is.”

“Not even Magnus or Lionel,” Benoit says, then repeats it for good measure. “Not even Magnus or Lionel. I have to face it - my cunning plan is a failure.”

Stan sets his napkin on the table, much less dramatically than Benoit. “Do you really want it to work?”

Benoit eyes him, popping the last bit of éclair in his mouth in case Stan gets the idea of stealing food in return. “Yes,” he says, with his mouth full. He swallows. “I’ve only been trying everything I can think of. You know I want it to work.”

“I’ve thought of something,” Stan says. The crinkles around his eyes are back.

Benoit looks around the hotel breakfast room. The Spanish table is half-asleep and half-animated, with Feli sitting on Fer’s lap for some reason; Tomas and Tursonov are discussing the merits of various action films at the next table over; Nico has apparently taken pity on Magnus and Lionel and is cheerfully translating for them. (Magnus and Lionel stopped sitting with Benoit and Stan a while back, Lionel muttering something about being too old for this.)

“Okay,” he says. “But nobody’s paying attention to us at all. You’re not going to get on the table and start singing, are you?”

Stan smiles. It lights his face up. “No.”

“I’d declaim the virtues of your ass again, but apparently I sound sarcastic. And everyone’s eating breakfast, so they might not appreciate the timing…”

Stan pushes aside the empty plates, leans over the small table between them, and kisses Benoit straight on the lips.

It’s not a very good kiss. There’s a table digging into Benoit’s stomach, for one thing, and when he gasps and opens his mouth, Stan tastes like that slimy melon he doesn’t like. But Stan’s hair is soft under Benoit’s fingers, and Stan’s mouth is perfect, and when Benoit bites gently at his lip, the noise Stan makes is something Benoit wants to hear again.

When they break apart, Stan sits back in his chair. His hair is mussed – from Benoit’s fingers – and there’s a mark on his lip – from Benoit’s teeth, but the crinkles around his eyes are still exactly the same.

Benoit swallows.

People are surely watching now. (Many things can be interpreted in many ways, as they’ve found out. Kissing, not so much.) But even though Benoit’s sure they’re watching, he’s not 100% sure, because he can’t take his eyes off Stan long enough to check.

“Prank accomplished, I think,” Stan says, and Benoit’s impressed by the way his voice doesn’t wobble.

How do you end a prank like this, anyways? Do you leap up and yell, “Surprise!” Do you have a co-conspirator hidden with a camera to capture the gaping looks on people’s faces? Do you get up and take a bow?

Benoit wets his lips. They feel strangely dry. “I think,” he says, and something in his voice makes Stan’s eyes go dark, “that I’m done with breakfast.”

Stan’s waiting. Waiting for him. The knowledge steadies him, and he gathers himself.

He gets up. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine,” he says. “I warn you, I’ll probably steal most of the blankets. And both pillows.”

Stan gets up too, leaving the rest of his coffee. “I can live with that,” he says. “And we can ask housekeeping for more pillows.”

It takes Benoit by surprise, and he’s laughing before he realises it, his grin feeling like it’s going to split his face. “Come on, Romeo,” he says, extending a hand.

Stan takes it.

~//~

“This is probably the least romantic way to start something ever,” Benoit says, in the lift.

Stan leans against the wall. “Since it was me, not you, who finally made the cunning plan work, maybe I should be in charge of things for a while.”

Benoit likes being in charge. Still, never let it be said that he’s not flexible. “And you think you can do romance better than me?”

Stan pushes off from the wall and leans towards Benoit, bracketing him with his hands. It reminds Benoit of the first day of the prank, but Stan doesn’t look awkward now. “I think,” he says, his lips nearly brushing Benoit’s, “that if the two of us put both our minds to romance, instead of pranks, we’ll do a pretty good job.”

“Well, of course,” Benoit says. “It’s us, after all, and we’re fantastic.” 

This time, he sees the kiss coming, and races to get there first. Stan tastes less like melon this time, and more like his own éclair. Excellent.

A thought occurs to him suddenly, and he grins into the kiss, dropping his hands to get two good handfuls of Stan’s ass.

Stan pulls back from the kiss, already laughing.

“Well,” Benoit says, “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And have you?” Stan says, eyes alight.

Benoit purses his lips. “I think,” he says slowly, drawing the words out, “that I’m going to like grabbing it very much.”

That makes Stan’s breath come quicker. Benoit decides that's an interesting development which must be investigated.

“Holy shit,” someone says from the lift doorway. Benoit must really have been out of it if he didn’t hear the door beep and open. “Get a room!”

They spring apart – or rather, Stan springs back. Benoit is quite happy to lounge against the wall and grin languidly at the new arrival. Grigor. That means that once he tells Maria, and she tells all her friends, and he tells all his friends, and all their friends tell all their friends…

“Scuse us,” he says. “My boyfriend just can’t keep his hands off me. And you can’t really blame him.” He’s not sure Grigor will understand the French, but he’ll understand the smile. And he’ll understand Stan’s blushing.

Stan grabs Benoit’s hand and hauls them out of the lift. Benoit waves at Grigor as they go by.

~//~

“Is this still the prank?” Stan asks, before Benoit’s even finished shutting the door.

“What?” Benoit asks, locking it, then unlocking it, opening it, and putting the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle before shutting it again.

“I have to know,” Stan says, his lips tight. “I have to know I’m not misinterpreting things.”

Benoit thinks about answering by just taking all his clothes off right then and there, but decides against it. For one thing, he wants to watch Stan’s face as he does that, and it’s too dark in this entryway. So it’ll have to be words. “Stanley,” he says, stepping closer, watching Stan’s throat bob, “I take my pranks very seriously, but not this seriously.”

“What about cunning plans?” Stan asks, his hand coming up to cup Benoit’s cheek.

Benoit grins, slowly, widely. “Whoever said the prank was the cunning plan?”

They don’t make it to the bed the first time. But they eventually do, and the pillows are just as wonderful as Benoit remembers.

There are more fun things to do in Stan’s bed than sleep in it, however.

~//~

“So,” Nico says, when they hurry into the locker room together, already late for their afternoon practice, “you two have finally seen the light.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Benoit says airily.

“There’s a bite on your throat,” Nico says. “Just so you know.”

“I know,” Benoit says.

~//~

Three more people congratulate them with variations on “about time!” on the way to the practice court. Benoit would be annoyed, except this was totally his plan all along. Totally.

Also he’s got Stan’s hand in his, so there’s that.

~//~

Lionel takes one look at them, rolls his eyes, and shares a longsuffering glance with Magnus.

Benoit waves to the fans at the fence and bounds off to the baseline, twirling his racquet as he goes. “Stan,” he calls across the net. “I have a cunning plan!”

Stan laughs. (Benoit remembers how that laugh feels against his skin, and shivers happily.) “Do you? What is it?”

“I’m going to beat your butt in the practice set!” Benoit says. 

“Try your worst,” Stan shoots back, doing his little jumpy stretches.

Next time, Benoit thinks, he’ll suggest that the forfeit be a kiss. That way, even if he loses, he’ll win. Cunning plans on top of cunning plans!

He grins and tosses a ball up into the air, tracking it against the clear blue sky.


End file.
